


Emily Smith's diary

by Natalia_lives



Category: Torchwood
Genre: "Ianto's Coffee", Jack was always 'avantgard', a calm day at the Hub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 13:10:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11783835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natalia_lives/pseuds/Natalia_lives
Summary: . “What are you reading?” His voice was curious. “Emily Smith's diary, from the sixties.” “Was she Torchwood?” “No, she was an architect, but had the luck to work with Torchwood.” “I take it, with you as well.”A calm and nostalgic day at the Hub, which takes place after Exit Wounds.





	Emily Smith's diary

As the last thing to do on his end-of-the-day-routine, he brought fresh water to the vase that was standing at the middle of the table in the boardroom. There were four white margaritas and one dark red rose in it. It symbolised them. Tosh, the margaritas (she always had them on her desk), and Owen, the lone rose. It was a sad thing to do and a sad sight but it helped them heal.

He finished arranging the flowers, wiped off the table again and on his way out switched off the lights.

‘Myfanwy – fed, so is Janet. Guns polished and loaded, fresh weevil sprays been added to the gears. Autopsy room cleaned, “medicines to buy” list updated, first thing to do tomorrow...’ The time he finished his list, he arrived to his station slash kitchenette. It was half past 1 am so a coffee probably wouldn’t do any good. Hot chocolate than!

Ohh by the way, where is Jack?

His coat, nice and clean, was hanging there, so he must be in the Hub. Ok, but that still leaves one with thousands of places to be. And he was definitely not in his office or bunk under it. Anyhow, he turned back to the making of hot chocolate. ‘I should really change the tourist office into a coffee shop. Would earn a fortune aaaand could be called ‘Ianto’s Coffee.’ He poured the hot milk into the blue-white striped and the black mugs then added cocoa to it. While stirring it he continued thinking. ‘Although who has time to make coffee, hot chocolate, tea, chatting with the customers when a weevil hunt can come up any given time. Yeah, nobody. I mean, nobody working in Torchwood. But at least, my colleagues love my coffee. (Can’t function without it basically...)’ He smiled to that thought. A little whipped cream and voila, two mugs of delicious hot chocolate were ready. Now all he needed was somebody to share it with. He put them on a tray and embarked on his journey.

 

It was a very special place in the Hub. It was at the end of the second floor ramp, above the hothouse. There were some blankets and pillows there and a tiny little lamp, like a nest. Nobody knows how these things got there, who was the first one to go there, but it was there for some time now and sooner or later everybody spent a few hours there. It was the perfect place when you want to be alone, but not confided in a small place. You have a full view of the Hub but nobody sees you, so in a way you there and but not fully. The best part was though, that they didn’t speak about it a lot. They know it’s there, the little lamp shows it if somebody there and that’s it. It’s a very special place.

He sat crossed-legged, a pillow behind his back as he rested against the wall. He turned a page in the book, he was reading.

_“I got this new dress – OH MY GOD! It is beautiful! Emerald green, silk, the newest design, long sleeves, short skirt and the décolletage, it is heavenly!”_

He had to smile reading this, and not just smile but stop reading. He could see that dress, in fact not jus could but he saw that dress. It was really beautiful, and she really looked more than stunning in it.

As he moved his eyes back to the book in his lap, he saw two polished shoes. Eyes fixed on them; he started to look further up. Black striped slacks, dark blue shirt, deep purple tie, an opened vest, one hand in pocket the other holding a tray. And of course a mysterious smile.

With his best mock bartender voice and manner asked: “May I offer you a nice mug of hot chocolate from Ianto’s Coffee?” He stared down at him questioningly. With his best half serious voice and equally mysterious smile (although was it a tiny bit seductive as well?) he answered: “It’s my favourite place! I always go there. I simply have to accept it.” Before he picked the mug from the tray, they stared at each other, eyes locked, smiling mysteriously. “Oh, so you are a regular. We have special offers for regulars.” Wink. A widening grin. “You have?” “We have. I’ll bring you the special menu later.”A grin widening even further. “I can’t wait to see it.” “You do know, I guess, that our logo is a stopwatch?” He said that completely deadpan. “Oh, c’mon Ianto! That. Was not fair!”  He was laughing. “It was absolutely fair, sir.” His retorted half seriously, while he handed the blue-white striped mug over, put the tray down next to him, and sat down to one of the pillows comfortably.

One finger still among the closed pages, not to forget where he was, the other holding the mug they clicked them then took a sip. “It’s good. Really good.” A very humble ‘thank you’ was the reply. They took a few sips more in silent. “What are you reading?” His voice was curious. “Emily Smith's diary, from the sixties.” “Was she Torchwood?” “No, she was an architect, but had the luck to work with Torchwood.” “I take it, with you as well.” Ohh, an ever so slight sarcasm. A mock surprised voice as an answer, questioned: “What makes you say that?!” “You have her diary, and as ‘The Archivist’, I’m more than sure, that it’s not from there, which leaves us with the conclusion, that it is something personal. Besides, you come reading it up here.” He said it like a detective in a TV show, when list the known facts of the investigation up. “Ohh yess, she indeed worked with you.” The detective arrived to a firm conclusion. Eyebrows arched up high with an appreciating smile said. “You’re good. And right, we did worked together.” A long sight. Another sip. “When in the sixties the city decided to renovate and build new parts, they made an experimental architect, civil engineer etc. team to look over it. Not that we had anything to do with it first, but then they wanted to build a new block in a, back then, very rift-active place. So this team and Torchwood annoyed each other to no end over it. But as it turned out after a half year, it was just a temporally hot spot, so we retreated and they build up the fancy house.” Silence. A pair of understanding eyes watched the other figure. “And she was part of that team.” “Yeah.” One more sip. A deep sight. “So, it was only a half-year-long thing and eventually she got retconned. But, after it, some memory fragments somehow still came up. She had no idea, what sort of memories these are, so she wrote everything down. And I mean everything.” The last sentence was followed with a little chuckle. Then with a ‘I just realised what you mean – ohh’. The Detective came to another firm conclusion. “So you’ve dabbled.” And although he was expecting a ‘yes’, he was surprised when the diary was suddenly in front of his face, a finger pointing ant ’11. March – Sunday’. He started to read. He had to grin whilst reading it. Maybe she could design buildings but she could write as well. “Bordering on the avant garde.” He put the two, now, empty mugs to the tray. “Why reading it now?” He first looked up, eyebrows high up, then smiled, then a deep breath in, eyes closed, breath out. Then turned sideways, so he could face the other man. “She died yesterday.” There are words in this world, we definitely hate. A hand found its way to the other and squeezed it. “I am sorry.” “Thank you.” He closed the diary and put it away. He pulled the other guy to himself. After rearranging themselves, they ended up one head resting on a shoulder another on it, hands still holding each other. “How come, we never spent time here up together?” “Don’t know sir.” The voice answering, was a bit sleepy. Understandably, it was almost two, and they had a long day.

 

“I don’t know about you, but I really wouldn’t touch that machine! You don’t know how to use it, you don’t know what could happen if you push the wrong button and the worst part is we don’t know what the aftermath will be!” The voice which said it was a bit desperate. The answering one was as well. “But we have to do something! This situation can’t go on!” “But think about the aftermath if something happens!”

A booming voice filled the Hub. “It’s called decaf!” The other two figures flinched and turned toward the cogwheel door, which lazily opened up, revealing Ianto standing there. They looked at him like two kids being caught doing something they shouldn’t. The usually commanding voice now turned into pleading said. “But you weren’t here all morning.” The other, female, voice continued. “And we really can’t work without your coffee.” His eyes were on them as he put the box he was holding, hung his coat and stepped in front of them. Two set of sad, coffee addicted borderline desperate eye stared back to him. ‘What did I say? They can’t function without it!’ “There was fresh coffee at the thermos.” And he pointed to the large thermos behind them. The two set of eye turned back, registered the presence of the object. “And I left a note as well.” The best way to break the awkward silent was to laugh. So they did. “I’m sorry Ianto, I guess we were a little too desperate. Weren’t we Jack?!” “I guess we were....” “All right. The important thing is you didn’t touch my machine.” They laughed again then the day went on.  

“First thing tomorrow I call Andy and ask him about it!” “Ok. And ask him about the C* case as well. The police might have picked up something.” “Sure.” She said it with her usual kind smile. “Ianto, how’s the new resident in Flat Holm?” They talked more about it now and she took part of the organising as well. “He’s getting better now, although he’ll need some extended psychological care.” “Thanks.” They all leaned back in their chairs and sat in silence. They were all staring at the vase. She put her empty mug down to the table first, then stood up. The other two followed her in the same fashion. ‘I collect the mugs later.’ he thought and made their way out from the boardroom. She picked her jacket, put in on, and then turned back, facing them. “Night!” “Night!” “Good night Gwen!” As she headed out, Jack went back to his office, finishing some paperwork before calling it a night. Ianto went to his station and picked up the box he brought in earlier today. In fact, that was the reason why he was late today.

He heard him entering his office, but didn’t look up until he was standing in front of his desk. With a plain curiosity in his voice, he asked. “What’s in the box?”  He was smiling at his in his usual unreadable manner and with a kind voice said. “I picked it up for you. I guess, you’re the one who should own it now.” He had no idea what the other man was talking about. He picked the box and opened it up in a hurried way. There were two books in it. No title on the front. He was still clueless. Then he opened the first. It was hand written. “You.” He started, but didn’t know how to continue. It was two other part of Emily Smith’s diary. He looked at him. “Thank you.” It was completely honest. “You’re welcome.” His smiled curled up further. “I leave you now. Still have some things to do.” He didn’t hear him; he was already lost in reading.

As the last thing to do, he entered the boardroom. Thankfully, it was clean and tidy. He went to the desk, placed the empty mugs on a tray then wiped off the table. He picked the tray up and headed out, in his return he brought some fresh water with him. He poured it into the vase then rearranged the flowers. He wiped off the few water drops from the table. On his way out he switched off the lights.

2016/04/07

 

**Author's Note:**

> ps.: the date (III. 11.) - it's not because of John Barrowman's birthday....it has a personal meaning for me ;)


End file.
